


A Cold Madness

by Rozel



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 15:05:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rozel/pseuds/Rozel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Coogan would always remember . . .</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Cold Madness

Usual Disclaimer  
I don’t own the characters of Bodie and Doyle, or any others from the TV series. They belong to Mark One Productions and Brian Clemens.  
I borrow them to write fiction for my own (and hopefully your) pleasure, with no financial gain to myself or anyone else

A COLD MADNESS  
Betty sat at her desk, trying to ignore the raised voices from her boss’s office. She knew it was going to be a difficult day when she had taken a call the previous morning from Geraldine Mather’s PA. Surprisingly George Cowley had agreed to see Mather without delay. 

On the infrequent occasions her name was mentioned, George invariably closed up. This was the woman who had nearly caused CI5’s closure, and Cowley’s demise. She had been so determined to prove that CI5 used torture and unacceptable means of interrogating suspects, so convinced of her own crusade against the ‘police state’, she was blindsided by her own client, John Coogan. The affair had ended badly for her, and Coogan had gone to prison for GBH.

Now she had resurfaced, and asked, rather than demanded, to see George Cowley.

Inside the office, Cowley was pacing the room, raging at Miss Mather. Thankfully both had thought to attend the meeting accompanied; Mather with her colleague and Cowley with his Minister. Betty privately thought that such company would prevent the inevitable bloodshed, and was glad they were there.

However, it was certainly a stormy meeting, and she was relieved when Mather swept out of the office. She looked upset and her usual composure was not in evidence. As soon as she’d left Sir Richard popped his head round the door, and called to Betty.

“Could you rustle up some more tea please my dear, and include a cup for yourself. We’ve work to do.”

Betty quickly produced the tea, and took the tray into Cowley’s office. Sir Richard thoughtfully drew up a chair for her and motioned for her to sit down.

Cowley looked both dangerous and dejected. He looked at his secretary.

“We’ve a problem on our hands, thanks to that woman!” he said angrily.

Sir Richard held up his hands.

“George! She didn’t have to come here and tell you. She’s effectively ended her own career, breaking a client confidence in that fashion. Perhaps she’s developed a conscience at last.” He turned to Betty.

“Where are George’s boys?” he asked.

Betty looked askance, unsure exactly what was going on. She was saved from any further confusion, by Cowley himself.

“Miss Mather has come across some information about her star client, John Coogan. Why she continued to work on his behalf is beyond my powers of deduction. Anyway, Mr Coogan has returned to this sceptred isle after some time spent in Spain, and went to see his solicitor. During the conversation, he made reference to the fact that he is going to ensure that Bodie and especially Doyle will pay for what they did to his brother. The fact that he alone was responsible for Paul’s death seems to have escaped him.” He stopped and looked at Betty.

“4.5 and 3.7 are both on leave, separately for a change. Typical when it would be much easier if they’d have gone off together! Now, do we know where either of them is?”

Betty sat there not quite sure of what she’d heard. She consulted her notebook and found the information.

“Doyle is in the New Forest. He’s signed up for a course in Western style horse riding at a place outside Sway.” She flipped over a page. “Bodie is somewhere in South Devon; he claims to be on a retreat!”

Cowley gave her an incredulous look.

“A retreat!” He snorted, “that’s Bodie-speak for do not disturb. I suppose he’s away with one of his interchangeable girlfriends!”

Betty would have laughed at loud at the accurate assessment of Bodie’s holiday plans, but Cowley left her in now doubt as to the seriousness of the situation.

“Contact both of them immediately. Put Murphy and Jackson on standby . . . no send them down to Sway tonight. Thank goodness 4.5 and 3.7 are both in the same general area!” he said grimly. 

Betty exited the office, and began to make her enquires. She knocked on Cowley’s door within a couple of minutes.

“Come,” he barked.

Betty stood in the doorway, pale and unsettled.

“Sir? 4.5 never checked in at his hotel. They assumed he’d get in touch to cancel. 3.7 is at a hotel on Dartmoor. He’d changed his plans. Murphy told me. I’ve left a message for him to call as soon as he can.”

“Aye and I don’t suppose he’d bothered to follow orders and officially tell us.” His voice lacked its usual bite and this worried Betty even more.

Cowley turned and looked out of the window. Snow had begun to fall catching the meagre light from the street lamps as it danced to the pavement. The deepening gloom of the January evening echoed his mood. 

What a miserable start to the year . . . and the weekend.

 

Nikki Matthews climbed into the cab of the Land Rover with a smile on her face and murder in her heart.

She always left John Coogan’s home like this. The ex-boxer and ex jailbird made her feel slightly grubby. He had called her today, to look at one of his horses. The animal was a highly strung and expensive Arabian stallion, bought purely because Coogan wanted to impress his current fatuous girlfriend. The woman had ridden the horse twice and lost interest. Since then the animal had been stabled and fed but totally ignored. Coogan called on Nikki regularly to check on its wellbeing. Each time Nikki advised him to exercise the horse regularly. She’d suggested on more than one occasion that maybe he should sell it to someone who would make use of it. Coogan merely gave her an oily smile and made his usual grubby comment that he’d like to see her ride!

Nikki decided that today was the last time she’d put up with his innuendos – someone else at the practice could deal with him, and his prize stallion. She slammed the vehicle door closed and turned the heater on full. It was a bitterly cold day, and the wind slicing across the open moor made it feel even colder. 

She reversed the big vehicle out of the yard and followed the road out. She turned on to the main road that crossed the Forest and put her foot down. The morning light cast a silvery glow over the settled snow, its brightness in stark contrast with the trees on the horizon. Despite the heater blasting at full power, Nikki could still feel the cold; the deep, numbing variety, which still managed to get into the 4x4. 

She drove on, admiring the landscape as she did. This area of the forest was sparsely populated, with several of the big houses empty as their owners holidayed in warmer climes. Nikki had chosen to live here. The New Forest was mysterious; forbidding and remote, but icily beautiful. On a winter’s day like this, the roads were deserted. She lived in the far southern part of the forest, about ten miles from Lymington. In such weather conditions she was thankful for the big vehicle and its capacity to treat any and all journeys like a quiet Sunday drive.

She was relishing the return to her cottage. As part of a small team of vets in residence for the national park and the local landowners, she had been out on her rounds since 8.00am that morning. It was a quiet day with nothing needing urgent attention, and she finished her rounds in good time. She had even managed to get away from John Coogan in less than thirty minutes.

Checking her watch, she noted it was ten thirty. She drove quickly and confidently, wanting to get home for breakfast. Passing the turning into Wellfield Reserve, she noticed the gate had been left open, and tyre tracks leading down towards the tree line. Slowing the vehicle she reversed and turned onto the track. There was a small herd of ponies that had made their winter home deep in the trees, and she hoped they hadn’t been disturbed. Muttering under her breath about the idiocy of people, she drove the off roader slowly through the snow. She stopped the car and set off on foot.

The snow was deep here, and showed signs of disturbance. The horses had obviously been startled by something, and made for safety deeper in the woods. The dim light made it difficult to see the animals, and it was twenty minutes, moving slowly towards them before she was able to satisfy herself that they were safe. Nikki began to retrace her steps, anxious to get back to the warmth of the Land Rover, when she saw tracks in the churned snow, leading further away into the forest. 

She debated whether to call in for help, but she was concerned that whoever had made them could be lost or hurt. Trudging through the snow, she followed the prints to a small copse. The sun had risen, but the light barely reached into the trees. It was still bitterly cold. 

Wild goose chase she thought to herself. There seemed little point in going any further. She was about to turn back when a flash of blue material caught her eye. Squinting against the brightness of the snow, she saw movement ahead. As fast as she could, she stumbled towards the sight. Probably a hiker she decided. Why don’t they ever take note of the conditions? Oh well . . .

Nikki was not easily shocked, but the sight that greeted her made her stop in her tracks.

The blue material belonged to a pair of jeans, and the jeans belonged to a young man. His jacket and shirt were ripped and bloodied, and his face was scratched. One eye sported a large bruise. He was slumped at the bottom of the trunk, head down, his arms forced behind him. Nikki gasped when she realised his hands had been tied behind him and the rope then looped around the tree. She stood there momentarily, unable to grasp the nastiness of the situation. Clearly someone didn’t want this man to find his way out of the wood. Shaking her head, she slipped off her heavy coat and laid it across his body. The loss of warmth from her coat was poorly compensated by her fleeced body warmer, and she realised how cold it was. She shook the man gently, trying to ascertain if he was conscious.

The sudden warmth or her coat seemed to revive him briefly. She spoke quickly and quietly.

“My name is Nikki Matthews. I’m a vet. I’m going back for my car, and I’ll drive round the other side of trees. It’s easier than trying to walk you back.”

The young man gave no indication he’d heard, but Nikki saw a brief nod of his head. She thought quickly whether to untie the ropes but glancing at the heavy knots she knew she needed something sharp. There was a knife in her bag in the car. As swiftly as she could, she retraced her steps and climbed into the vehicle. The interior was warm and welcoming. She turned the powerful engine over, and the 4x4 gave a low growl as she engaged the gears. Its big tyres gripped the icy road as she swung it out of the wood and drove quickly back to the main road. She sped along the deserted bypass and then took a sharp right onto an access track for farm equipment. Within a couple of minutes, she returned and parked a few yards from the man. She climbed down from the cab and hurried across. Despite huddling under her coat, she could see he was succumbing to the cold. He was curled up under the material and his breathing appeared shallow. She spoke to him and was concerned when he seemed to ignore her and then threw the coat aside, exposing his already chilled limbs to the snow.

Nikki cursed quietly as she realised the signs of hypothermia manifesting themselves in the man’s behaviour. She cut the rope from the tree and pulled him to his feet. She was disgusted at the thought of what could have happened. Whoever had done this knew he couldn’t get away. It was a calculated ruse to keep him immobile and out of sight. Talking to him all the time, cajoling him to move to the vehicle, she manhandled him into the passenger seat. She pulled the seatbelt across him and moved round to the driver’s side. She climbed into the cab and looked across, amazed to see the man was fast asleep, oblivious to his surroundings – and more worryingly, he had yet to say a word.

By her reckoning she was closer to John Coogan’s house than her own. It made sense to drive back to the man’s house and seek help for her passenger from there. At least she knew he was home! She sighed inwardly. Coogan was the last man she wanted to see again, but it seemed the only option.

She retraced her route and ten minutes later, pulled into the stable yard. Leaving the engine running so the heater would warm the cab, she was about to leave the vehicle and find someone when John Coogan’s head groom walked round the corner. His name was Richards, and he was as oily as he was devoted to his boss. He walked up to the car and motioned for her to wind the window down. His smarmy voice grated on her nerves. 

“Oh you’re back then. Fancy taking John up on his offer of a ride?” He leered at her through the glass. She watched him carefully as he looked her over. It made her skin crawl. Abruptly he drew back and his face contorted into an angry mask.

“Wot you doin’ with ‘im,” he shouted. “Where did you find ‘im? No-one was supposed to find ‘im . . . his rant was stopped in mid flow as Coogan himself came out the house.

Richards turned to face his boss. Spittle flew from his lips as he shouted at the man.

“She’s only gone and found Doyle. She’s bought ‘im ‘ere.”

Coogan ran towards them, his face dark and inhuman. He tried to wrench the door open. Without thinking Nikki slammed the vehicle into gear, and swung it across the yard and back out onto the road. Snow flew in all directions as the Land Rover found purchase on the road and sped away. One part of her brain told her she was in very big trouble indeed and the farther away she was from Coogan, the better.

She floored the accelerator and the big car growled as it responded. She glanced fearfully into the rear view mirror, frightened in case Coogan was following. However, the road was clear, and remained so for as long as she could see.

Back at his home, John Coogan was almost incandescent with rage. The sight of Doyle, bloodied but still alive fuelled his anger to such an extent even Richards scuttled off on a pretence of work. Coogan paced around the huge, showy living room, refilling his glass with scotch. The liquid burned his stomach with each sip.

Vanessa, his current girlfriend, disturbed by the noise had wandered into the living room.

“Wassup babe?” She was barely awake and very hungover from the previous night. She failed to realise the extent of Coogan’s anger, and glided over to him, and draped herself around his neck. Coogan took a hard look at the woman, long blonde hair dishevelled, and the remnants of makeup stuck to her face. He pushed her away silently.

“Oh babe, don’t be so nasty,” she whined. “Come back to bed Johnny.” She pulled ineffectively at his arm.

Coogan took a deep breath and let out such a scream, Vanessa thought he would make his throat bleed! She stared at him, frozen with fear.

“Get your fuckin’ ugly face out of my sight, you cheap whore!” he screamed at the woman. 

She took one look at his murderous face before turning and running out of the room. As she flew up the stairs, she heard the crash of a heavy crystal tumbler as it shattered against the oak door.

A few minutes later, she saw Coogan from her bedroom window. He was calling to Richards. She heard him re-enter the house and then the sound of the telephone dial. Quietly she opened the door and crept onto the landing. She could hear Coogan speaking into the phone. He sounded almost happy!

“Yeah, Nikki came over to look at Blaze . . . oh he’s fine thanks, but she’s left her purse here. Give me her address and I’ll pop it over. She knows me . . . we go back a while . . . Where? That’s just outside of Lymington innit? That’s great! I’ve got some business that way so it’s no trouble at all. Thanks.” He put the receiver down and shouted to his groom.

“Richards! Get the Jag ready, and tool yourself up. Now!”

 

Nikki drove along in silence. Now and again she sneaked a look at her passenger. For a while he seemed to be awake.

“I’ll take you to the hospital. You need to go to casualty. I think you should ring the police too . . .”

She stopped in mid sentence as a thin, yet strong hand gripped her wrist. 

“No hospitals or police.” The man could barely speak. “Your house . . . I’ll call for help from there.” The man lapsed back into silence, and then sleep.

Twenty minutes later, Nikki drew up outside her cottage. It was small and compact with an old world charm on the outside and a modern interior. Her mother thought it too isolated, but Nikki enjoyed the solitude, and the fact that she opened her door onto the forest. She shut off the engine and listened as the hot metal clicked and hummed as it cooled down.

She gently shook her passenger into wakefulness. Half carrying him, she opened the door of the cottage and helped him across to the large sofa where he sank down into the cushions, and closed his eyes. Nikki began to tug at his wet clothes. She pulled his jacket off and tossed it aside, before slipping off the soggy tee shirt. She began to undo the belt around his jeans, and was surprised when he grasped her wrists. She looked up at the man, and into a pair of the greenest eyes she had ever seen.

“I can manage that meself thanks,” he spoke in a hoarse whisper.

Nikki sat back on her heels and stared back.

The man continued looking at her while he wriggled out of his jeans, pausing only to pull at her coat to preserve his modesty.

“Don’t feel too good. What’s the time?”

She glanced at her watch. 

“It’s almost noon,” she replied.

The man nodded and lay back on the sofa. He was asleep almost immediately.

Nikki gathered up his wet clothes and threw them onto the floor by the washing machine. She grabbed a couple of fleecy blankets from the cupboard and carried them back to the living room. She dragged her coat off the man’s body, his nakedness not registering with her. She draped the blankets over him, tucking then firmly around his feet. The wood burner was smouldering nicely, and she opened the vents allowing more heat out in to the small room. Nikki threw in another log, and satisfied that her guest was warm enough, she returned to the kitchen to make tea. She flung the wet and muddy clothes into the machine and set the programme. The small acts of normality helped settle her nerves.

She filled a small bowl of water, and carried it through to the lounge. She gently wiped a cloth over the man’s face, and cleaned the blood from around his eye. He groaned softly but didn’t wake. Once the dirt had been wiped away, she could see it was cut, although not badly. She applied some salve to the myriad of other cuts and bruises she found and then collected up the used dressings and returned to the kitchen.

She came back to the living room, carrying steaming mugs of tea. She sat on the sofa, and looked at her guest.

He was dozing and looked a better colour. His hair was long and curly, and framed a round face. She noted a small bump on his cheekbone. In repose his mouth looked generous, as if it were made for smiling. He seemed slender but muscled. The blanket had slipped down slightly, and Nikki caught a glimpse of a silver chain. So intent was she on looking at the man, she didn’t realise he had opened his eyes, and was regarding her with an equally appraising look.

“Oh!” She tensed, held by the green gaze. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realise you were awake.” She held out the mug almost as a peace offering.

The man continued to watch her. He wriggled up into a sitting position and accepted the mug, clasping it, trying to leach the heat into his hands. 

“Thanks,” he said sipping the hot tea. “Feel a bit better now.”

Nikki shook some aspirin out of a packet and handed them over. The man swallowed them down with his tea.

Nervously Nikki asked the question that had been nagging at her since this nightmare began. 

“What did you do to upset John Coogan?”

“Er, he thinks I killed his brother,” replied the man. He saw a flash of fear cross her face.

“I didn’t,” he added hastily, “he did it himself. John’s an ex boxer, and they used to spar together. Trouble was Paul Coogan wasn’t in the same class as his brother, and John pounded his insides to pulp. I arrested Paul, and he went for me. My single punch was one too many. Paul died of a ruptured kidney while in custody.”

Nikki looked at her guest with faint amusement. He didn’t look as though he would hurt anyone.

He looked at her steadily, and put out a hand.

“I’m Ray Doyle. I work for CI5,” he said.

She shook his hand amused at the formality.

“Well, Ray Doyle, I suggest you stay there and rest for a while. You’re lucky I found you when I did. Much longer outside and you could have been permanently hurt, or even worse.”

Doyle smiled at his rescuer.

“I think that’s exactly what Coogan was hoping for.” He yawned and put the mug down. He snuggled under the blankets.

In the kitchen the phone began to warble. Nikki left the room to answer it.

Doyle was feeling much better. The warm blankets and the hot tea had done wonders in restoring his body warmth. Outwardly peaceful, his mind was working a top speed trying to work out the hows and whys of his present situation.

While he was pondering, Nikki ran back into the room, her face pale.

“That was the clinic! Apparently John phoned them to ask for my address. He says I left my purse at his home. Trouble is, we’ve got a temporary receptionist on duty, and she’s told him where I live. He’s on his way over!”

Doyle pushed off the blankets and struggled to his feet. Nikki gasped and he suddenly realised he was completely naked.

She hid her face and shot out of the room, calling out as she went.

“Hang on; I’ve got some clothes that might fit.”

Despite his situation, Doyle couldn’t stop the smile that crossed his face. She was back within seconds carrying jeans, a pale lemon t shirt and a blue overshirt. She threw the items at Doyle. He dressed quickly, surprised that the clothes were an almost perfect fit. He went through to the kitchen and found the phone. Dialling quickly, he motioned to Nikki and mouthed at her for his shoes. Propping the phone under his chin, he began going through the drawers, picking up and discarding items that might double as weapons. It was a pretty poor choice.

“4.5 here. Put me through to Alpha 1. Hello sir . . . no, I never got there. Coogan was waiting for me in the car park . . . don’t remember much more.”

The conversation was short and terse. Doyle said ‘Burley’ and put the phone down.

“Your car. Keys.” Nikki seemed rooted to the spot. Doyle moved towards her.

“We have to go now! C’mon love.”

His words galvanised her into action, and she grabbed her bag. Together they left the house, Doyle still unsteady, and feeling weak, ran out into the snow and climbed into the 4x4. Thankfully the engine was still warm, and it turned over first time. Doyle was driving, and in no time they were hurtling along the deserted road.

He drove fast and expertly. Nikki sat hunched in the passenger seat, trying to come to terms with what had happened in the few hours since she’d woken. Doyle glanced across at her and noticed how quiet she’d become.

“I’m sorry about this,” he said as he negotiated a tight bend in the road. “Coogan apparently has decided to teach me an’ my partner a lesson. He still won’t believe it’s ‘im responsible for his brother’s death.”

Doyle checked the rear view mirror. In the distance he saw a car speeding towards them. He floored the accelerator, praying that they wouldn’t come to any harm driving so fast on such an icy road.

“I think we’re being followed,” he muttered, keeping his eyes firmly ahead. Nikki swivelled round and watched as the car gained on them.

“Oh my goodness that’s John’s Jaguar,” she gasped. 

Doyle swung across a junction and headed towards Burley. The Land Rover was solid but not fast, and he prayed that Bodie was already at the meeting place. Slewing around another corner, he headed for the pub car park. Breathing a sigh of relief, he caught sight of the Capri parked up with his partner leaning against it, his arm extended and his gun rock solid. Murphy and Jackson stood close by, guns drawn and pointed towards the gate.

The 4x4 kicked up snow and grit as Doyle stamped on the brakes. He flung the door open and hopped round to other side where he dragged Nikki out of the vehicle’s cab.

Bodie called across to his partner.

“You took your time,” he growled. 

Before Doyle could answer Coogan’s Jaguar flew into the car park. Inside, Coogan took one look at the situation and decided the odds were stacked against him. He pulled desperately at the wheel, and the Jaguar went in to a tight turn. Narrowly missing the gatepost, it flew out of the car park, and back up the road away from the CI5 men. 

The car park went from being a hive of activity to complete quiet. It was too early for any regulars to be at the hostelry, and Burley, in winter, wasn’t quite the tourist trap it was in the summer. 

Doyle slumped against the Capri. His body ached, and he was feeling the cold again. Nikki caught Bodie’s eye and nodded towards his partner. He motioned towards the car, and Nikki steered Doyle towards it.

He called over to her.

“We’ve not been introduced. Manners are sometimes foreign to Doyle, especially when he’s a little stressed!” Bodie’s face broke into a huge grin. “I’m Bodie, the spikey one’s partner! Your place?”

 

Leaving Murphy behind to liaise with the local constabulary, they got Doyle back into the 4x4 and drove back to Nikki’s house. Both cars pulled up outside and once again Bodie and Nikki half carried Doyle back into the cosy living room. Nikki covered the young agent with the blankets again, and then sat down with a sigh.  
“What on earth have I got myself into,” she wondered aloud.

Bodie sat down cheerfully on the chair opposite.

“Oh nothing we can’t handle love,” he said. “Just a nasty piece of work that refuses to accept responsibility for his brother’s death. Blames me an’ Doyle.”

Nikki looked at both the partners and shook her head. 

“I’ll make some tea. Looks like Ray could do with another mug. And you Mr Bodie . . . tea or coffee?”

Bodie smiled brightly at the attractive woman.

“Tea please love . . . and it’s just Bodie. Er, got anything to eat. Missed me breakfast this morning. Got called out to rescue him.” He jerked a thumb towards Doyle’s resting form.

Nikki relaxed slightly and smiled at the man.

“I’ll raid the fridge; see what I can rustle up.”  
While Nikki busied herself in the kitchen, Bodie took over the phone and made a number of calls. Although she wasn’t paying much attention to his words, Nikki could see the big man was used to getting his own way. He issued instructions in a firm manner, clearly expecting no arguments from whoever was on the other end of the line.

“Ah sir. I’m with Doyle now. Coogan took one look at the combined forces of me and Murph and took off again. Murphy’s working with the locals now, and Jackson’s waiting for McCabe. Then they’re going over to keep an eye on Mr Coogan.”

The voice at the other end of the phone sounded both brusque and tired. Bodie replied:

“I suggest we put a watch on all ports and airports. We’re near enough to the Channel for him to take a trip to Europe if he wants . . . very well sir, we’ll wait here.” He gave the telephone number of the cottage to the caller.

Bodie ended the call and made his way back into the living room. Doyle was sleeping soundly, but looked a great deal better than he had done a couple of hours previously. Nikki related how she’d found him, and what Richards had said when she drove into the yard.

Bodie sat there thoughtfully. While he didn’t want to alarm her, he was concerned at what might happen. While Nikki chatted away, the big man unobtrusively walked around the cottage, noting the position of doors and windows. He stared outside into the grey day and with furrowed brows realised how isolated they were.

By five o clock, Doyle was awake and complaining of being hungry. Apart from an array of bruises somewhere on the blue/purple palette, he was back to his old self. Dressed in those of his clothes that were salvageable, he tucked into a plate of bacon, eggs, tomatoes and mushrooms. Waving his fork in the air around him, he chatted amiably to Nikki, all the while keeping an eye on his partner. Bodie, he noted, looked worried!

Nikki cleared away the plates and returned to the kitchen.

“Kettle’s on. We’ll run out of tea bags if we’re not careful,” she said laughingly.

Bodie wasn’t laughing.

“Ray, we need to get away from here and the sooner the better. It’s too isolated, and until we know for sure that Coogan is behind bars, I don’t believe we’re safe. Nikki will have to come too. She’s seen and heard too much, and I don’t think Coogan would leave her alone.”

Doyle nodded in agreement. His own experience with the ex-boxer left him in no doubt that John Coogan was a vicious and dangerous thug, who was fixated on harming those he believed responsible for his brother’s death.

While both agents were planning what to do the phone rang. Nikki stuck her head round the door.

“Bodie? It’s for you. A Mr Cowley.”

Bodie smiled briefly and went to the phone.

He returned soon after, his face dark and forbidding. Nikki was handing out tea, and took a seat in the armchair.

Bodie began without preamble. 

“Cowley’s heard from McCabe. They’ve been to Coogan’s place and it’s deserted. The front door was open and they went in. Found the place had been ransacked,” he lowered his voice, “and they found a young woman there. She’d been beaten badly and died before the ambulance arrived.”

Nikki paled at such news while Doyle just stared at his partner.

“She told them that Coogan had gone mad and trashed his own home! She tried to reason with him and he beat her with his fists! His fists Doyle! She died before she could say more.”

“He’s on ‘is way here, isn’t he? We haven’t time to get out have we?” said Doyle flatly.

Bodie nodded.

“I guess so. It has to end soon Doyle. Cowley has asked for local help but I dunno how long that’s going to take. He’s on his way here too. Drummed up a helicopter from somewhere. Mind you, weather’s not good, so we’d better sort ourselves out sunshine, and quickly!” he said.

Bodie ran out to his car and came back with a small bag. Opening it up he handed a spare Walther 9MM to Doyle and an R/T unit.

Doyle walked around the cottage, locking doors and windows and with Bodie’s help moving furniture around to block an entrance through the cellar trapdoor.

Nikki, quiet and pale sat to one side, unsure of what to do. Her thoughts were with Vanessa. She’d not particularly liked the young woman, thinking her shallow and silly, but even so, no-one should end up dead in such awful circumstances.

Seeing her discomfort and fear, Doyle called quietly to her.

“Nikki love. Could you close the curtains please? Upstairs as well? Thanks.”

By now the snow was falling hard, making it difficult to see anything even a few feet away. It also deadened the sound of approaching traffic.

Bodie switched off the lights and opened the front door slightly to see the road. It was dark and almost impossible to make out any movement at all. Most residents had decided to remain indoors for the day, only the bravest venturing out in the cold. Bodie heard, rather than saw a car drive past, and then there was absolute silence.

In other circumstances both agents would have been quite happy to be alone with an attractive young woman and unable to leave the cottage. However, the enormity of their plight pushed any finer thoughts aside. It was a waiting game, and neither Bodie nor Doyle particularly liked this enforced inaction. 

“How do you think he’ll do it?” asked Doyle.

“Not sure. He won’t come on foot. He’ll use the car . . . no choice . . . snow’s too deep for any attempt to come on foot. “ 

Nikki spoke, her voice small and fearful.

“John’s got snow chains on his Jag. Gives him more purchase on the roads.”

Doyle nodded his thanks at this nugget of information.

“So ‘e could drive up to the front door then?” he said to Bodie.

“Probably will. He’s a lazy sod. That Jag’s heavy too. Better clear away from the kitchen then hadn’t we? Don’t want to be sitting pretty when he drives it through the door.”

They spent the next few minutes silently. Doyle checked their guns and Bodie tried the resolutely silent R/T.

“No-one near enough,” was Doyle’s only comment.

Bodie slipped outside quietly. Each breath he took produced a fine mist. It was bitterly cold but the earlier snow clouds had dispersed and the stars were twinkling in the night sky. He looked up and down the road, straining to hear anything. So intent was he on looking for headlights on the road, he almost missed the body that crept up behind him. It was only the faint shadow reflecting from the porch light on the snow that alerted him to his attacker.

The man swung wildly with an evil looking metal stanchion, obviously planning to split Bodie’s scalp open. The agent threw himself sideways into the soft snow, kicking out as he fell, and catching the man behind the knees. The two of them tumbled down, rolling around both trying to get the upper hand.

Bodie called out, trying to warn his colleague of the surprise attack.

“Ray. Ray! They’re here, they came on foot,” he shouted.

Doyle hearing the commotion outside ran swiftly into the hall. The front door was only partially open and he could hear, but not see, the ongoing fight. Fists crunched against skin, and Doyle could hear the grunts and groans as each man pummelled his opponent. 

Doyle headed for the kitchen, calling out to Nikki to lock herself in the bathroom. He got to the kitchen and froze. Outside the window, he saw Bodie kneeling in the snow, blood running from his nose and mouth. His hands were held over his head, and Doyle could see a rope circling each wrist. Next to him lay a body, unmoving. Standing next to Bodie, with a gun pressed against his friend’s head, was John Coogan.

His eyes shone with a crazed, queer light. He was devoid of all reason and began to laugh.

“Oh Doyle . . . I’ve got your buddy here,” he cooed. “Neither of you are goin’ t’see the light of day. It’s just a question of which one I kill first. Then I’m going after that little vet . . . she’s always sniffing’ round the yard. Fancies me I expect. I’ll have a bit of fun with her first though!” He looked at Bodie. 

“I thought I might make it quick for ‘im . . .” he nudged Bodie with his foot. “He didn’t beat Paulie to death! But first he’ll see you Doyle, broken beyond repair, ‘cos that’s what I’m going to do to you. Throw out your gun and get out here now or I’ll shoot him in the elbow!”

Doyle weighed up the consequences. His first thought was that John was mad enough to shoot Bodie anyway. Secondly he wondered about rushing him, hoping Bodie would have the sense to roll out of the way. Before he could form a coherent plan there was a gunshot.

Doyle was jerked back into the moment: he ran out of the kitchen throwing his gun before him, and was confronted with John grinning maniacally. Bodie was still kneeling, eyes closed, only the slightly increased breathing giving any indication of his stress.

“Thought that might move things along a bit.” Coogan waved his hand at Doyle, motioning him to stand away from the door.

“I haven’t shot him yet Doyle. That was your last reminder. Good job you came out. Now tie ‘im to that car.” Coogan threw across the end of the rope, and waggled the gun in the direction of Nikki’s Land Rover.

Slowly Doyle walked across to his partner, eyes never straying from the gun. He took the end of the rope and tied it to the winch at the front of the vehicle. 

“Tighter!” commanded Coogan. “Don’t want him slipping out and helping you.”

Doyle did as he was told. He saw the look of defiance in his partner’s eyes.

“Stay out of this Bodie, and you might just live,” he whispered. “It’s me he’s after.”

Bodie grunted through his split lip.

“Sunshine. It’s my turn to do the rescuin’ today! I’ll think of something. Just keep him occupied for a while.”

“Stop talking!” screamed Coogan, hurrying forward, his movements only marginally hindered by the snow.

He pulled Doyle away from his friend and delivered an eye watering kick to his belly. Doyle keeled over, coughing but scrabbling away from Coogan. He pulled himself up just in time to evade another kick from Coogan’s heavy boots. 

Coogan suddenly stopped his wild flailing, and coolly pointed the gun at Doyle.

“I don’t know whether to take you away from all this and dump you in the forest with your legs broken, or just punch you into oblivion. I could do it you know. I used to spar with Paulie – caught him off guard once or twice.”

“Yeah, we know,” replied Bodie. “Caught him once too often, didn’t you Coogan? Remind me again? Who is really responsible for the death of your brother?”

Coogan gave an inhuman cry and launched himself at the man. He grabbed Bodie’s hair and forced his head back. With his other hand he slapped his face hard, splitting the agent’s lip.

Doyle, still slow and winded from the kick staggered towards Coogan, as he pounded Bodie’s torso with his feet, the gun and his fists. He reached the ex-boxer and pulled him off his friend. Coogan spun round and slammed the gun into the side of Doyle’s head. His legs gave way and he collapsed into the snow.

Coogan’s rant stopped as quickly as it began. He laughed again looking at the two stricken agents.

“Not so tough are you?” he rasped. “Bodie there, surprised by an old drunk. Poor Richards . . . never did amount to much. And you Doyle . . . I’ll give you credit for the fight you put up at the car park. I knew that chloroform would come in handy. Didn’t expect you’d be found for a while though. Hoped you’d be dead by then!”

He turned back to Bodie.

“Watch what I’m going to do to your little friend now.” He produced an old sock, obviously weighted with something heavy, and began to systematically hit Doyle. Coogan was very specific: he repeatedly hit Doyle’s shoulders and wrists, knees and ankles, making it almost impossible for him to crawl away.

“That’ll keep you quiet for a while,” he snarled. “I know what I’m doing. No bones broken, but you’re too badly bruised to move. You stay there Doyle – I’m going to find little Miss Matthews. We’re going to have a party out here. You can watch me make her do things she ain’t thought of yet, and then she can watch while I finish you two off, once and for all.”

He started towards the door, interrupted by a clear cool voice calling to him from across the road.

“I don’t think so Coogan. If there’s any finishing to be done, I’ll do it! Put your weapons down and your hands where I can see them.”

Bodie lifted his face and stared into the dark night. He couldn’t see well, but he recognised Murphy’s voice, devoid of its usual jocularity.

Fuck me, it’s the Seventh Cavalry he thought to himself.

Coogan started into the darkness.

“Whoever you are, you don’t want start playing games with me,” he shouted. “I’ll kill ‘em both. I will!”

Coogan rounded upon Doyle and pointed the gun at the stricken man. He never did anything else.  
Murphy shot him once through the chest, the force of the bullet spinning Coogan around. He collapsed, blood running freely from the wound, despoiling the pristine snow.

Even then, his eyes full of hate focussed on Doyle, lying close to him.

“CI5 – you’ve won again you bastards,” he whispered, “and I did so much to even the odds!” He went silent, and his eyes rolled upwards in his head.

Murphy strode over to his friends and colleagues. He looked visibly shocked at the state of both men. While assessing what needed to be done, he heard a gasp and looked up to see Nikki staring out of the door, with huge, frightened eyes.

“Dear God, what has gone on here,” she whispered. Murphy stood up, towering over her. 

“It’s OK Miss. I’m one of the good guys. Murphy. CI5. Could you call this number please and ask them to send the team out?” He handed her a small card.

Nikki grabbed the card and went in to the kitchen. She made the calls, as Murphy first carried Doyle and then Bodie out of the snow and into the warm cottage. She raided the cupboards for blankets, and began to clean up the superficial cuts and bruises that she saw. 

She checked Doyle over and went to find Murphy. He is such a sweetie she thought to herself.

“I’m a vet, not a doctor, but I think Ray isn’t as badly hurt as I thought. He doesn’t seem to have any broken bones, but only a full examination in hospital will confirm what damage John did. Bodie’s injuries are less severe. He might need the odd stitch though.”

Murphy looked down at the young woman. He thought she was lovely; warm hearted and pretty too.

“Thanks for helping. There was never going to be a good ending to this. I’m just pleased you weren’t hurt. Coogan was obviously not right in the head! Wait till Mr Cowley gets here, and we’ll talk some more.”

Nikki moved back into the sitting room, more at ease after her chat with the tall handsome operative.

Cowley arrived some time later, to find the cottage and the surrounding area awash with lights and people. CI5 had sent their own scene of crime experts down to search and report, while another team were at Coogan’s house, sifting through papers and other information. 

Bodie and Cowley sat down for a long time, deep in conversation. Doyle, assessed at the scene by the ambulance crew was on his way to Lymington Hospital. Cowley beckoned to Nikki and looked up at her kindly.

“Well young lady, I’m sorry you were dragged into this mess, but thank you for all your help. I’ve made arrangements for you to stay elsewhere tonight. I’m afraid we need to work outside your home and your vehicle for a while. It shouldn’t take too long, but we’ll be quicker if you’re not here. Murphy will drive you to the Balmer Lawn Hotel at Brockenhurst. Please don’t fret. It’s all paid for.”

He turned away, and began speaking to Bodie again; shortly after he stood up, massaging his leg.

“I’m going to the hospital to see Doyle. I’ll be staying overnight at the same hotel as Miss Matthews. We’ll meet there tomorrow. All agents. Eight in the morning sharp. Put this mess to bed and get on with some proper work!” He stomped off, calling to his driver as he went.

It took Doyle almost a month before he was fully fit for work. The bruising had been severe and he had spent hours with Macklin working on his movements. Doyle had been surprised at the gentle routines devised by the trainer – usually a session with Macklin was not for the faint hearted. He worked hard, putting in the training that would enable him to return to work.

Bodie had spent a week on sick leave while his cuts and bruises healed. He put himself in the tender hands of Claire, and for several days couldn’t be contacted, while she ministered her own special brand of healing.

He did go and see Doyle in that time. Shocked by his friend’s colourfully bruised body, for as usual Doyle had dispensed with any pyjamas, claiming the weight of the material hurt his injuries, he nonetheless was happy to note that Doyle was on the mend. A pretty young nurse kept popping her head round the door to check if ‘Mr Bodie is tiring my patient.’ Bodie smiled at her and promised he wouldn’t tire ‘poor Mr Doyle out’.

“Think I’ll leave that to her,” he remarked acidly after her fourth visit. 

“Hey, leave her alone,” protested Doyle. “She’s very good to me. Helps me with my bed baths and applying my oils and liniments,” he sniffed.

Bodie rolled his eyes and said nothing.

Eventually both men were pronounced fit for work. They both filed reports detailing the whole sorry saga of John Coogan. These were sent to the relevant departments and official bodies. Geraldine Mather was kept fully appraised of what had gone on, but remained strangely silent on the whole situation.

The first day back for Bodie and Doyle was quiet and peaceful. No outstanding operations or new missions were detailed. They spent the day, going over old reports, getting in some target practice and making many mugs of tea. Agents came and went throughout the day, stopping to chat or just acknowledge that the 4.5/3.7 team were back.

It was only in the pub later that evening that Doyle asked where Murphy was.

“Not seen ‘im at all today. Is he working somewhere?” he asked.

Anson puffed away at his cigar.

“You could say that,” he replied.

McCabe smiled and pushed a glass of orange juice across to Doyle.

“Hear he’s on leave,” he said. “Gone down to the West Country for a week. Taken a sudden interest in the wildlife down there.”

Bodie looked at Doyle, both smiled at each other and together said “Nikki.”


End file.
